A Mask for All Occasions
by Lucifer Rosemaunt
Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes... it's not slash though... not yet at least.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash fic (not really, but if you squint and turn your head to one side, maybe you'll see a shadow of a hint of slash, but it was more written with slash in mind). It is more of a series of vignettes that are put together b/c of theme and then it wraps together, in an abstract way. I do not know how to explain it. It is completely different from my other fics though.

Warning(s): homosexual content, slash!

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: Okay, if you read the summary, well, you basically know the gist. It's a bunch of vignettes held together by a common theme (I was going to use the term 'drabble', but I read the definition to make sure I was using the word absolutely correctly and I didn't want to be limited by the number of words in the fic, so I go with the term vignette… since it fits more and I actually don't really know how long each chapter will be but I just don't want you to expect long chapters b/c more than likely they won't be). In my mind, it is a build up to something (whether that something is a continuation fic to it is still under question).

It is actually the premise to another project I am working on and when I was writing, it just came to me. I was like, 'this would work for POTO.' So here it is in all its abstract glory.

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A Mask for All Occasions

Prologue

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." (Shakespeare, As You Like It)

We are so accustomed with the roles we play that we do not realize we have them. The shifts between are so subtle and natural that it is seamless.

We switch subconsciously knowing which roles are the acceptable ones to use by each other's reactions and expectations. It is a constant give and take of information that we learn when we are younger, and only by adapting to each other are we able to play the roles properly. Those who fail are considered deviant and outsiders. It is the last thing we really ever consciously want. We do not know anything besides this interaction.

Some roles in life are roles we feel we have to play. We have to be charming and considerate in order to be accepted. We can change our outward appearance and the numerous other insignificant facets just to obtain some piece of acceptance.

Some we are born into and for a while do not know anything else. Only if we are lucky will we ever be able to know anything else.

Some we choose thinking it is the best and only path to take. Not looking to anything beyond what we currently see, we choose roles thinking as long as there is no other greater evil than this, '_I will take it_.'

Then, there are those roles we do not question because they are outcomes of those previous roles. In order to maintain one role, we find ourselves playing another one. And another one. And another. We find ourselves playing many roles because of one single one that we probably did not choose.

And, for a while, we are satisfied. We can claim to be someone, to know who we are, to have a purpose. We become familiar with the cues and the lines. We become accustomed to the reactions and expectations. We become complacent with the prescribed emotions and dreams. We know our place in life, and that is all that a person can really ask for.

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word count: 332

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

I technically do not expect anything right now. It is random… isn't it? This chapter does not have anything outwardly to do with POTO, but meh, it is a prologue. I also think there are more words in the A/N's than in the story. I swear I'll stop doing that. --,


	2. Vicomte

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash fic (not really, but if you squint and turn your head to one side, maybe you'll see a shadow of a hint of slash, but it was more written with slash in mind). It is more of a series of vignettes that are put together b/c of theme and then it wraps together, in an abstract way. I do not know how to explain it. It is completely different from my other fics though.

Warning(s): homosexual content, slash!

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: I'll keep it short. Here it is:oP

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A Mask for All Occasions

Vicomte

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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He had been born into this position. All his life he had been relegated to second best. His parents had paid more attention to Philippe for he would be the one to really carry on his father's title and position. Philippe had been the perfect child. Intelligent, outgoing, charismatic, and what flaws he did have were easily ignored.

Raoul never minded so much about the title. He never really even minded being second best because in a distant way even though he and his brother rarely acted as such, he respected him. It was really more about the type of attention or lack thereof that he received from his parents. He knew he would never be able to live up to the standards that Philippe had inadvertently set for him, but he had somehow hoped that being himself would have been enough. It wasn't.

However, he had been bred as well (as he could) as a member of the elite and had tried to follow his family's expectations of him. He worked hard to be the serious and well-trained elite that they had spent all their money to produce. He slipped sometimes and let himself forget about those lessons and their expectations, but when it came down to it, it had been so ingrained in him that he would revert after the slightest infraction.

Their expectations had run all of his life for as long as he could remember. His parents' rules, society's rules, they all ran his life so he felt his title _was_ his life.

He knew he was considered a snob, maybe even shallow, but what did people expect of a Vicomte? Raoul had never met one who displayed such qualities as meek and humble and his parents nor his brother said to behave any differently. He had been socializing with the elite all his life and had yet to meet anyone who truly displayed any other qualities. He had emulated them the best he could thinking that his parents would approve. They said nothing, but still he tried. Raoul had been a Vicomte all his life, he would know to act otherwise if that is what Vicomte's did, wouldn't he?

He had been born into privilege and would try to live up to what those privileges entailed. His responsibilities had brought him to the opera house. The Comte's duty was financial and political. As a Vicomte, Raoul was supposed to expand the de Chagnies good name in the arts.

So, his title often forced other titles on him.

Deeply hidden from his parents and his brother, he yearned for something more than a title. He yearned for people to look beyond that and see the man he was not even sure existed underneath all the clothing and false appearances. He yearned most of all for that man to exist and be set free.

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word count: 477

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Oh, I have no idea about the specifics of being a Comte or Vicomte. I just wrote whatever I felt like. :o) Well dang, these_ are_ short.


	3. PhantomMonster

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul slash fic (not really, but if you squint and turn your head to one side, maybe you'll see a shadow of a hint of slash, but it was more written with slash in mind). It is more of a series of vignettes that are put together b/c of theme and then it wraps together, in an abstract way. I do not know how to explain it. It is completely different from my other fics though.

Warning(s): homosexual content, slash!

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: Okay… it's kinda growing in length. That's hopeful. :oP

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A Mask for All Occasions

Phantom/Monster

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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He had been born into his position. All his life he had been relegated to a creature not on par with normal human beings. After all, he had been born with this face. The deformation that made his mother hate him. He could not be more than what society had already decided for him. He was simply a freak of nature, a monster. A monster that was forced to become a phantom.

Disgust. Fear. Loathing. All the attention he had ever received consisted of these.

Erik had hated his title. He hated what society had deemed to call him. He could never live up to their standards of physical beauty. He had once been naïve enough to think that he could be accepted as he was. That belief had been scorned as much as he had been. However, he was a genius. He knew it. He had hoped he could be accepted through his art, through what he could provide to society and not his physical appearances. He had hoped to be enough as he was, despite his appearance. He wasn't.

It was his position. It was his fate to hide in darkness. Had darkness not existed, Erik knew he would have perished long ago. He had none to teach him how to be a phantom. Life had been a cruel enough tutor and necessity its wooden paddle. It was mere self-preservation that taught him his ways.

Society's expectations had run all of his life for as long as he could remember. He could not be a part of it, yet he was still ruled by it. They ran his life so he felt his role as a monster _was_ his life.

A circus freak, a monster, learns to hate his persecutors and learns to hate all those who have what he lacks. It is also in his role as a monster to covet at the same time. Covet a life not hidden in shadows. The beauty he can never have, he searches to have through others. All that he covets becomes all that he yearns. A yearning so deeply ingrained in his nature, in his role that the yearning consumes him completely.

The yearning reached its peak at the opera house.

He would terrorize the opera house because that was also a role of a monster. He could never be a normal human part of society. He had learned torture and pain through society and he would share what he learned with those that crossed his path. He would spread that suffering to those in the opera house. It was power that he had never known he could have. It was his just cause for compensation for his terrible life.

So, his role forced other roles on him.

Sometimes he slipped though. He still had worked to become better in his art. He had poured himself into his only means of communicating the conflicting emotions that swirled in his heart and in his head. For a moment, he would not hate those people that had once spurned him and the society that followed in step. He would pretend he could be among them. He would watch that small ember of hope in him struggle. However, the monster had been so ingrained in him that he would revert after the slightest incitement.

He yearned for something more than his title. He yearned for the love and affection he had been denied. He yearned for people to see the man without being distracted by his deformation. He yearned most of all for that man to be set free.

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word count: 597

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Heh… I think I'll post this now. :o)


	4. Patron

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes (not slash, but yeah)

Warning(s): yeah, I really should take out the warnings because there isn't any.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: You guys are awesome. Thanks to whatevergirl, xdark.flowerx, psychonerd 5, and PuppetofDreams. You're unbelievably fast. And did I mention awesome? Thanks for the reviews. Cookies for you all!

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A Mask for All Occasions

Patron

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By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

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This was a piece of freedom for him.

Being a Vicomte had led him to becoming the patron of the Opera Populaire.

Being rich had actually been the real force behind his ability to become a patron. He had wished to separate the two roles, but knew he could not.

However, he felt as though he had some choice in this role. He had wanted to. He had mostly wanted to in order to get out of the house from the scrutinizing gaze of his family, but he had wanted to. He felt as though he had some control over this part of his life. When it felt as though all the rules and moves had been predetermined, it felt as though this choice would be able to change some of that.

His home and the society in which he lived was his cage. Trapped for all his life, this involvement set part of himself free.

Of all the duties of a Vicomte, Raoul loved this one the most.

In the opera house, he felt a distinct sort of freedom. He was allowed to be the one to set rules and not be completely run by them. He did not feel the gaze and expectations of society bearing down upon him inside the opera house. He could change things on a whim and make decisions that would affect all the lives attached to the Opera Populaire. The opera house was almost his own domain.

It was not just about the power though. He would never abuse it. As the patron, he found he loved everything about the position. He could express his love of music and show it through his involvement and support of it. He would be able to lead them in decision-making instead of following others' as he was forced to do in society and his family. He would do anything to keep the Opera Populaire up and running.

He could be a businessman but more importantly, he could pull himself away from acting the part of a shallow and unconcerned Vicomte. Pull away from the behaviors that seemed so ingrained in his entire being. He could be more than a Vicomte.

He could be a patron.

He could be a benefactor and not an elitist. He could support instead of hoard.

Had he not been a Vicomte though, Raoul felt he could have maybe been something better.

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word count: 400

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

I couldn't get this one to flow correctly. Hopefully I'll revise it a couple more times before posting it so you won't see the crappy first version. :o)

Sad truth, the above _is_ the revised version.

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	5. Angel

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes (not slash, but yeah)

Warning(s): yeah, I really should take out the warnings because there isn't any.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: I'm trying to make it sound better, but whenever I read it, it just doesn't seem to flow well. Hopefully, this one turns out better. I'm trying though.

o.o.o.o

A Mask for All Occasions

Angel of Music

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

This was a piece of freedom for him.

Being a recluse had led him to becoming an Angel of Music. He himself did not give himself that title though. He had chosen the role of a musician, yet another had chosen his title of Angel.

Being shunned and scorned could not touch this part of his life, though his bitterness and hatred often colored his art.

He felt as though he had control over this part of his life. Though he had not chosen the skill, he had chosen to cultivate it. He had chosen it mostly to escape the dreariness of the life he led, but he had chosen it nonetheless. When it felt as though all the rules and moves had been predetermined, it felt as though this choice would be able to change some of that.

His home, a dark cellar, was his cage. Trapped for all his life, his music set part of himself free.

Of all the 'gifts' fate had bestowed on him, Erik loved this one the most.

In front of the organ, he felt a distinct sort of freedom. He was allowed to be the one to set rules and not be completely run by them. He did not need to worry about rejection or the biased reactions society had against him. His physical appearance was somehow intricately part of yet completely hidden in his music. He could express himself completely. He had power in his music. He had power in the notes from his organ and from his voice. He could create moods and experiences no one could compete against. No one could touch. The operas he could create were his domain.

It was not just about the power though. He would use it to his benefit and use others along with it, but music was so much more. He was able to create. He was able to create when all his life he had had a tendency toward destruction. He even had the power to create attraction and appeal. He could help the Opera Populaire succeed or fail. He had the ability to create inspiration in people that could draw out their potential.

He could be an angel but more importantly, he could pull himself away from being a phantom and monster. Pull away from the behaviors that seemed so ingrained in his entire being. He could be more than a phantom.

He could be an angel.

He could be a creator and not a destroyer.

Had he not been a phantom though, Erik felt he could have been so much more.

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word count: 431

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

grin… I had totally been thinking about 'I know why the caged bird sings' poem for some reason.

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	6. Fiance

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes (not slash, but yeah)

Warning(s): yeah, I really should take out the warnings because there isn't any.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: So it's been decided. Chapter 06 of 10. There's a set number now:o) And a continuation that's actually a story and not just a series of vignettes. It's crazy… isn't it?

2 chapters for 2 reviews… now don't think I could actually keep up if more people reviewed. --; I would die if I had to do a chapter per review, but as long as there's only two… here are the two chapters!

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A Mask for All Occasions

Fiancé

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

When he became the patron of the Opera Populaire, he hadn't thought he would become anything more.

He had been surrounded by so many people that never saw him. He was the Patron, the Vicomte. They saw money. They saw the benefits that having him around would bring. They even brought with them their expectations of him. As though Raoul were ever one to disappoint in performing expectations. It was the only means of survival he had in society. He could act the part they expected him to. What it really came down to was the fact that they never saw _him_. No one had seen him in a long while. No one had even bothered to look at Raoul.

Not until he stepped foot in front of the employees of the Opera Populaire. No one except her.

He knew he shouldn't be thankful for misfortunes but her misfortune had brought them together, and in a way, his misfortune did as well. He was thankful that she had found a place to be when her father died. He was thankful that his duty as a Vicomte was to support the arts. He was however apologetic that he hadn't tried to help her. He had known when her father had died. He remembered reading it in the paper and feeling inexplicably depressed for the rest of the week. However, he had been younger then and still completely under the power of his parents. He had known there was nothing he could do, but that had simply been a part of the brainwashing. There had been something he could have done, but even to this day, he couldn't break away from the hold that his parents and society had on him. He didn't think he was strong enough. Somehow though, he had managed to become her fiancé.

He didn't know his past would meet up with him in the present.

She had reminded him of a time when he had been carefree. A time when he had acted with a freedom of a child still half wild, still familiar with the concept of absolute freedom. He had saved her scarf and in return he had been given a haven. He always thought that her father had treated him better than his family treated him. He knew he had belonged somewhere. He had been surrounded by people who were genuinely interested in cultivating him as an individual; people who were genuinely interested in getting to know him.

Christine had been the closest thing to an actual friend he had ever known. Even his brother was not his friend, but this girl, this daughter of a famous violinist could share her time with him. They would spend hours together talking of flights of fancy and the future.

A future that would never come to pass.

He saw her and wanted all that back. He wanted the familiarity. He wanted something to tear him away from the ingrained behaviour of playing roles, to forcibly stop it because he didn't think he was strong enough to do it on his own. He wanted the feeling of freedom, of companionship, of someone _seeing_ him.

He just knew. It _had_ to be true that she would see him. To see him and not his title, not his money. He knew he shouldn't need the acknowledgment of another to be his true self, but he couldn't help it.

Did someone really exist if no one knew of his existence? Maybe he could come into existence through her.

He could love her. He _did_ love her as long as she kept on seeing the real him. He had asked her to marry him. He had asked the only person he felt saw him to be his lifelong partner. It only made sense to him. He was breaking out. Just a little, but he was breaking away from his parents' grasp. That little had been one of the hardest things he had had to do in his life.

He had brought her to the rooftop. In fact, she had brought him. He had hoped. She took his hand and brought him to a part of the opera house he hadn't been. The view was beautiful, and in the snow, Raoul couldn't help but be impressed by her own beauty. She looked into his eyes and held his hands. Surely, she wasn't seeing the patron. She wouldn't look at a patron like that. Surely, she wasn't just seeing the Vicomte. She wouldn't speak to a Vicomte like that.

But there was something lingering. There was something in the look of her eyes and the way she kissed him. It was in the way that she didn't only see him but saw everything else as well. He could see her cataloguing the people he played. It made sense that she would. Those roles he played were parts of who he was, but there was something more that made him worry. He knew the words that would keep her with him. However, a voice in the back of his head, a feeling whenever they met eyes, a queasiness when she spoke to him, they were all screaming at him to listen.

His image, his hope was shattering with each visit. That cataloguing had forced him to realize. She wasn't seeing him. Raoul started to realize that she had never really seen him, but in a way, he had never really seen her either. She had seen each new role he played and had noted the way she should react differently to each one. She was playing roles in a way that perpetuated his own. When she did look past the role, she had merely seen the little boy he used to be. She saw the hero who saved her scarf. And he, he had projected his fantasy onto her. He could understand her need to react. He had been forced all his life to react to those around him in order to function, but the real betrayal was the fact that when he forced himself to stop playing a role, she had seemed lost. She hadn't known what to do. And when the image did break, he was no longer sure if he loved her, but he knew he still wanted to have her. Though devastatingly disappointed with her reaction, he would accept it because in a choice between her and no one, he would choose her. He would choose the person who had at least seen him once.

Even through all this, maybe, just maybe she could still be his freedom.

o.o.o.o

word count: 1098

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Holy crap that was long. Crazy… you should thank God for revisions because originally it had only been 358 words long. :o)

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	7. Tutor

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes (not slash, but yeah)

Warning(s): yeah, I really should take out the warnings because there isn't any.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: Chapter 07 of 10. :o) I know, it goes so fast, but at least you kind of know where I'm going now, right?

o.o.o.o

A Mask for All Occasions

Tutor

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

When he became the angel of music of the Opera Populaire, he hadn't thought he would become anything more.

He had been in hiding for so long, he had almost forgotten his desires for human contact, more than the infrequent contact through Madame Giry. He had always been surrounded by so many people that never once knew of his existence. Living in a bustling opera house had its benefits. He would be able to watch people and at least partially participate in being just another person in the crowd watching an opera. He would be able to just be around people. However, it was also a form of torture for Erik. He surrounded himself with people that given the opportunity would only jeer at him, would fear him, would shy away from him without ever once trying to get to know him. They wouldn't see _him_. They would see his deformity. Even before that though, they did not ever know of his existence, which to Erik seemed so much worse. No one saw him.

Not until he made them see. Not until he started to demand a pay from the managers and threatened the cast and crew. No one had bothered to not run away in fear. No one except her.

He knew that it was only pretense that made her speak to him, but maybe that would be enough to make her understand. Maybe that little misunderstanding would be enough for her to see the real person, not some phantom and definitely not some angel.

He was thankful for her misfortune. It was barely a piece of what he had known, but in his misery and in her misery, they had crossed paths. He was able to find her in the darkness that was his life. He had gathered the courage to speak to her. He heard her prayers. Prayers to a God he did not believe in and could not fully understand. He could however, understand her longing. He could understand how lost she felt now that she was all alone in the world. He could see how in the silence of night, her heart would call out for someone to find her and save her. He knew longing. He knew loneliness. He knew the feeling of wanting to be saved. Then, without thought really, he had broken the silence. He had called to her and she had only momentarily feared. The lie had come out naturally. She believed him. She believed him to be an angel, and that was a novelty in itself. He became her tutor.

He didn't know his past would let him meet someone like her in the present. It defied all logic.

So young and naïve, she hadn't questioned him. She blindly followed her own thoughts into their relationship. She had wanted the lie and he had allowed her to have it. She showed him a kind of awe-struck loyalty that gave him hope. He could hope that she would see past the deformity. He could almost believe she wouldn't shy away from the physical aspect of his being. He could almost believe she would see him because he was so much more.

Christine so desperately missed her father that she needed someone there. She needed someone to watch over her and guide her. Erik had fallen into the role. For a moment, he had thought that maybe he could be her saviour, but as time wore on and as she became more talented in singing than he had initially expected, that thought switched. He hoped that maybe she could be his saviour. She needed no more saving while he still did.

But, she would fail at saving him.

He saw her and wanted some of that hope back. He wanted something to tear him away from his desolation and depression, from the monotony of acting the villain. Someone to tear him away from the ingrained behaviour of playing roles, to forcibly stop it because he didn't think he was strong enough to do it on his own. He wanted the feeling of freedom, of companionship, of someone _seeing _him.

He just knew. It had to be true that she would see him. To see him and not his deformity, not his mask, and not an angel. He needed the acknowledgment of another to be his true self because he had lived in darkness so long, he wasn't certain he _wasn't_ just a specter.

Did someone really exist if no one knew of his existence? Maybe he could come into existence through her.

He could love her. He wasn't sure if what he felt was love, but if she could see past his face, he knew that his heart would belong to her undeniably. When that hope made him believe she could, he _did_ love her. He loved her for being all the things he couldn't be, young, vibrant, optimistic, beautiful. He loved her for talking to him despite his dubious appearances. He had taken her to his lair to be able to see the real him, to tear away the pretenses.

He had brought her to his lair. He had hoped. She had followed him willingly through the mirror into the passageway. She had stared at his face and seen the mask. Surely, she would have known that he was no angel. Surely, she would feel that the hand that held her own was made of flesh and blood, and not some spectral material.

But there was something lingering. He doubted. He saw her hesitation. He saw her looking back. He saw her stare at him as they all did in the carnival, with morbid fascination. He knew that he had to keep singing in order to keep her there. He forced the words out and sang of things he wanted and desired. He knew his voice would keep her with him longer. However, a voice in the back of his head, a feeling whenever they met eyes, a queasiness when she sang for him, they were all screaming at him to listen.

His image, his hope was shattering with each step he took though. That curiosity, that morbid fascination had forced him to realize. She wasn't seeing him. Erik started to realize that she had never really seen him and never really wanted to, but in a way, he had never really seen her either. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that she would never be able to really see him. She was forever going to see her father's angel of music superimposed on his image. She would forever confuse the two. He had ignored the knowledge. He had projected his fantasy onto her. The mannequin he often stared at was proof of that. When she had seen him, she had been terrified. He could actually understand the terror, but the real betrayal was that she had even removed his mask at all. He wasn't his mask nor just his face, and he had hoped she could look past them for at least longer than a day to understand who he was. To see him. When she did shy away, he was no longer sure if he loved her, but he knew he still wanted to have her. Though devastatingly disappointed with her reaction, he would accept it because in a choice between her and no one, he would choose her. He would choose the person who had at least acknowledged his existence as more than a phantom.

Even through all this, maybe, just maybe she could still be his freedom.

o.o.o.o

word count: 1259

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A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Wow, that word count went up… now don't expect much for the next chapters. It just seemed like there was more to say in these past two chapters.

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	8. Saviour

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes (not slash, but yeah)

Warning(s): yeah, I really should take out the warnings because there isn't any.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: Chapter 08 of 10.

o.o.o.o

A Mask for All Occasions

Saviour

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

She had given him this role. Not so much given as she had forced him into it.

He placed most of the blame on himself though. He cursed his inability to tear away from the roles. In fact, he hated the fact that he had taken the role so willingly. So happily. So frustratingly blindly.

She merely had to act her own role and he was swept up into the moment. Only with her did he have such little disregard for the freedom he had been working so hard towards.

He was swept up into believing, believing she was the only one.

In his own mind, he was no saviour. He was too scared. He was too selfish. And it took much more effort to be a saviour than he was willing to put into it, than he was able to put into it – drained as he was playing all his other roles.

If he were truly honest with himself, he would not be able to save her from a phantom, the Phantom. He would not be able to save her from a man that had already taken her right in front of him. He was realistic, but still he would try.

In all truths, he did consider himself to be a gentleman but he couldn't help the fact that he liked some of the attention he received from his roles. He had been brought up with all the etiquette lessons that were available. He knew the right words to say and the right actions to perform. He tried to stay within the bounds of proper behavior, but when he feels so trapped and contained, what else could Raoul do? He knew he was rather unruly at times, but he did not see the point of going anywhere without adding some excitement to the journey. He was a Vicomte. His little quirks were often expected in order to fit into the perception of the rich having their eccentricities. It was a role that got him attention. Everyone has their limits though. He found that he didn't mind saving people. He didn't mind playing the hero sometimes because he felt as though he could accomplish real good in the world by doing so.

Maybe he just wanted to actually be somebody. Hero complex, maybe that's what he had. He knew that she wanted his help. He knew that she was frightened and worried about what may befall her. But were all her worries justified? He wanted to save her, but save her from what exactly? Or more precisely from whom?

Christine had been living a perfectly acceptable life. She hadn't been complaining. Furthermore, the Phantom had only started to actively terrorize the opera house after Raoul and the new managers had appeared. The Phantom had merely acted out when they had shown their lack of respect.

Raoul couldn't help but suspect that the man was also playing roles. He had heard stories of why the Opera Ghost had turned out to be the person he was. He could empathize. Given different circumstances, Raoul felt as though maybe they would have understood each other all too well. He understood his shortcomings in truly empathizing with a man who had a physical deformity and the stigma placed on him by society, but he could understand the necessity of having to hide. The Phantom was merely staking his claim in the Opera Populaire. He meant no harm to Christine. Why else would Christine have been returned completely unharmed and emotionally unscarred (besides her initial fright)? Moreover, Christine had only been in danger after he had shown and stated his affections.

Maybe he would have to save her from himself. That, he knew he could accomplish. He knew how to make himself scarce. It had been a reflex in a society whose prying eyes were everywhere. He had learnt to hide not only his true thoughts and emotions, but he could physically hide from the majority of society. He could be discrete and unobtrusive, but his family would often pull him back into the light. Pull him into the harsh and unforgiving light of society that made him feel naked without his roles.

But in this respect, Raoul was certain his family would allow him to escape from Christine. They did not approve, and he was losing his will to fight for her. He had wanted that recognition. He had wanted that freedom, but he was not certain he would find it through Christine.

He often worried that she was already lost to him and he was grasping nothing but a shimmering illusion of her of his own making.

Sometimes he would look at her and not recognize her at all. Those moments made him despair, a sinking feeling in his chest that made going on feel impossibly. What was worse was the fact that those moments were becoming increasingly common. It felt as though she was the true phantom.

Now, he realized all too clearly, instead of providing him that haven from society, she had simply given him another role to play, another person to be besides himself.

This only reinforced the fact that Raoul had been wrong. He felt as though he could do no right.

Raoul had been wrong. Christine would never be able to see him. She might one day see beyond his title, but she could not see past the role fate had taught him to play. She couldn't see past the clothes, the money, and the duties that pressed upon him. She couldn't see that salvation was close at hand if only someone would help him reach it. She didn't want to see it.

She would never be his freedom no matter how much of the past she could remember. No matter how much of the present she could distract him. No matter how much of the future she planned.

He was almost willing to let her keep playing her game or force her away. These games were painful.

The Phantom though a ghost looked to have her best intentions in mind and he knew she felt drawn to him. She felt for him. Raoul couldn't deny it.

He was, however, torn on what to think about Erik. The ghost couldn't control himself. He was drowning in his own life from the consequences of his actions.

Was the ghost worthy enough to be his victor?

Whatever occurred though, he was certain that she would never be enough.

Suddenly, the choice stopped being so obvious. Maybe between the choice between her, who had seen him at least once, and no one, he would choose no one. At least he would not have to act more roles in the presence of no one.

o.o.o.o

word count: 1122

o.o.o.o.o.o

A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Well, 3rd to the last chapter. I'm typing in a library and it's so freaking cold my fingers are numb and I've been making so many typos that it's getting annoying. I hope you like these chapters… as they are the last ones. Thanks for the reviews again!

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	9. Villain

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: ErikRaoul series of vignettes (not slash, but yeah)

Warning(s): yeah, I really should take out the warnings because there isn't any.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: Chapter 09 of 10.

o.o.o.o

A Mask for All Occasions

Villain

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

She had given him this role. Not so much given as she had forced him into it.

He placed most of the blame on himself though. He cursed his inability to tear away from the roles. In fact, he hated the fact that he had taken the role so willingly. So happily. So frustratingly blindly.

She merely had to act her own role and he was swept up into the moment. Only with her did he have such little disregard for the freedom he had been working so hard towards.

He was swept up into believing, believing she was the only one.

In his own mind, he was no villain. He was violent and demanding, but those were simply compensatory actions that he felt completely justified to perform. And it took much more effort to be a villain than he was willing to put into it, than he was able to put into it – drained as he was playing all his other roles.

If he were truly honest with himself, he would not be able to steal her from a boy, the Vicomte. He may have been the one to take her, but she had gone back running to the Vicomte. He would not be able to take her completely from a boy who could be a part of her life in a way that he would never be able to be. He was realistic, but still he would try.

In all truths, he did consider himself to be gentleman but he couldn't help the fact that he liked some of the attention he received from his roles. He was cordial and proper in all his letters. He was civilized when confronting others and he would never engage an enemy without first giving them some sort of warning. They always saw him before he injured them. He tried to stay within the bounds of proper behavior, but when everyone persists in their inappropriate behaviour, what else could Erik do? He knew he was rather dramatic at times, but he did not see the point of entering a room without _making an entrance_. He was a ghost. The deceptions and theatrics were necessary to ensure everyone believed he was a ghost. It was a role that got him attention. Everyone has their limits though. He found that he didn't mind injuring others. He didn't mind playing the antagonist sometimes because he felt as though if it were only for a little bit, he could find some satisfaction in his bleak life.

Maybe he just wanted to actually be _somebody_. Hero complex, maybe that's what he had. He knew no one else was good enough for her. They couldn't be good enough for her. He needed to take her away. They would call him a villain, but he knew he would be saving her from their duplicities. But were all his worries justified? He wanted to save her, but save her from what exactly? Or more precisely from whom?

Christine had been happy pretending he was an angel. She was happy with being tutored; at least she hadn't been complaining. Furthermore, when the Vicomte had come, she had seemed truly ecstatic to see him. It had angered him, but she seemed to shine differently when Raoul was with her. It was difficult to compete with 'childhood friends' but the Vicomte had encroached upon his territory. Of course, the boy didn't know it at the time.

Erik couldn't help but suspect that the boy was also playing roles. He had listened to the gossip of the chorus girls as well as the information that Andre and Firmin had obtained of their new patron. He even went to investigate himself. He had seen life on the Chagny estate. Given different circumstances, Erik felt as though maybe they would have understood each other all too well. He understood that their hardships had come in different forms, as he had removed himself from the continual scrutiny of society and the Vicomte had obligations that Erik was free from, but he could understand the necessity of having to bury those emotions deep within you. The Vicomte had merely seen someone from the past – someone who seemed apart from society. The Vicomte meant no direct offense to him. Why else would he have been completely convinced that there was no Opera Ghost? Moreover, unfortunately, Christine seemed to be the one leading him into their relationship.

Maybe he would have to save her from himself. That, he knew he could accomplish. He knew how to make himself scarce. He had for most of his life. It had been a reflex in a society that would never accept him. He hid his face, and they were not satisfied. Their curiosity for the uncommon always revealed his deformity. He hid his true emotions whenever he saw the disgust and morbid fascination people had with his face, and they were not satisfied. Their greed decided to exploit his misfortune – exploit him and injure him. He hid himself completely, but _he_ would not be satisfied. He dwelt in darkness but he wanted some light. He needed something or someone to bring some reprieve into his life. He feared though that he would be forced into the real light. Into the world that would never accept him, in a society that made him feel naked without his roles.

But in this respect, Erik was certain everyone would see him as a villain and not the hero he tried to make himself be. He was being forcibly jerked into the role of a monster and even worse this time, he was a true villain. Not just a kidnapping or a shadow but a true villain with purely hateful intentions. She had chosen the other. He had chosen to not accept it, even though he was not certain he would find the freedom he wanted through Christine.

He often worried that she was already lost to him and he was grasping nothing but a shimmering illusion of her of his own making.

Sometimes he would look at her and see what she was turning into, and see what she had become. He was adept at reading people. He knew she was not the same young girl he had first tutored. She was turning into someone like Carlotta and that thought was enough to make him despair. It felt as though she was turning into but another self absorbed prima donna.

Now, he realized all too clearly, instead of providing him that haven from society, she had simply given him another role to play, another person to be besides himself.

This only reinforced the fact that Erik had been wrong. He felt as though he could do no right.

Erik had been wrong. Christine might one day see beyond his deformity, but she could not see past the role fate had taught him to play. She couldn't see past the pitiful creature and blackened heart the world had created through him. She couldn't see that salvation was close at hand if only someone would help him reach it. She didn't want to see it.

She would never be his freedom no matter what he did. She would instead choose to flee. She was frightened by him, frightened of the person he wanted not to be.

He was almost willing to let her go. Betrayal was painful.

The Vicomte though a fop looked to make her happy and he knew she felt drawn to him. She felt for him. Erik couldn't deny it.

He was, however, torn on what to think about Raoul. The boy couldn't even save himself. He was drowning in his own life.

Was the boy worthy enough to be his victor?

Whatever occurred though, he was certain that she would never be enough.

Suddenly the choice stopped being so obvious. Maybe between the choice between her, who had been less biased than the rest, and no one, he would choose no one. At least he would not have to act more roles in the presence of no one.

o.o.o.o

word count: 1344

o.o.o.o.o.o

A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

Ha, now all that's left is the epilogue! Then the real story begins. :o)

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	10. Epilogue

Disclaimer: Please don't sue. I do not own POTO... All I own is an overactive imagination.

Summary: The end of an abstract beginning and middle. Erik and Raoul converge.

Warning(s): Nothing incredibly bad.

Pairing(s): ErikRaoul (well, not really, but in my mind there's the connection)

A/N: Last chapter. Thanks to whatevergirl, PuppetofDreams, and xdark.flowerx for your constant support. I appreciate the reviews! Hopefully, this will all lead up to something spectacular… hopefully.

I'm actually hoping to post this last chapter the same time as the first chapter of my next fic because this is just a wrap up before the real deal comes, but we'll just see how well that works out, right? But, go read that one too, please! I can't help but hope you will b/c you're the only ones reviewing… I'm selfish that way.

o.o.o.o

A Mask for All Occasions

Epilogue

o.o.o.o

By: Lucifer Rosemaunt

o.o.o.o

Though we are accustomed to the roles we play, we can eventually find ourselves dissatisfied with those roles. Dissatisfied with the path that we are walking. Dissatisfied that everything has already been figured out for us. Dissatisfied with who we have become.

We begin to desire something more than reactions and set emotions. We begin to be able to see a life apart from our own, a life that we could have.

Then there comes that moment when it becomes all too clear that we are trapped behind the masks and the roles. We are trapped in constructs of society that have been in place for as long as there have been humans. We are trapped with no other way out than something extreme and we begin to realize that we want that freedom more than anything else we'd ever desired.

That freedom. That deepest yearning to be someone we think we could be, someone we want to be. The question arises of how much of life are we willing to give up just to have this one thing? This one thing that's more of a concept than something we can truly hold. And we have to wonder if we will know it even when we have it? Would freedom be everything we hoped it would be?

We run into a wall at this time though for we can never go back to the oblivious lifestyle of living each role and being content with those roles, but we cannot move forward without making a decision that would irreparably change our paths.

It's a time where a choice can be made. A time when a choice has to made. To choose between accepting and becoming who society and others have decided or to become who we want to be.

It's a moment in life where we can bury every other hopes but the ones we've been allowed or we can set ourselves free.

In a world full of so many constraints, so many rules, regulations, laws… don't we all want a certain amount of freedom?

o.o

We all know what happens when Raoul and Erik bury their true desires and become the people they'd been defined by society. But what if they hadn't.

o.o.o.o

word count: 372

o.o.o.o.o.o

A/N: Do not forget to R/R (Read and Review)!

For what happens, see my next fic… which I don't know the title of yet. I'm sorry, I was planning to post it simultaneously (since this can barely be called a chapter, really), but it's official, this week sucks. It has barely started and it sucks already. So, next week will be the first chapter of my new fic! Figured you could at least have the epilogue though.


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